


The Black Bull Tavern

by TheLadyRebel



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyRebel/pseuds/TheLadyRebel
Summary: Exhausted from their voyage to Driftwood, the adventurers take a load off in the tavern. Playful banter causes gradual tension and it's not long before Lohse prompts her companions to, "just kiss already!"
Relationships: Ifan ben-Mezd/Female Godwoken
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	The Black Bull Tavern

The Black Bull tavern in Driftwood square offers its services to all manner of folk, so long as they have the coin; travelers from far off lands, patrons looking to drown their sorrows in a warm mug of ale — even the occasional magister can be seen lounging comfortably atop one of the rickety stools that line the establishment's bar. The place boasts well-kept rooms that are rarely empty and a multitude of brews on tap. The bards that perform at its double-doored entrance draw in just as many customers as the tantalizing smell of homemade stew that wafts into the marketplace just outside the tavern’s busy kitchens. It seems as good a place as any to stop and rest after a long journey.

Exhausted from their tiresome voyage overseas, four newly-appointed Godwoken push past the crowd and claim a lonely table at the back of the tavern. One of them, a scarred and weary veteran, raises a hand and calls for a round of drinks, much to the delight of his companions. As they are served, he leans back, resting his shoulders against the sturdy wall behind him, and lets loose a sigh. He seems far more interested in resting than indulging, as is his way.

Sandor is his given name and, though he does not speak often, he is wise beyond his years. He is also tired —  _ very much so _ , but he does his best to remain attentive now; his careful gaze surveying the surrounding patrons as they make merry. Given the current state of the world, he knows that only a fool would let down their guard in a place like this. 

_ It is better to be safe than sorry.  _

Beside him sits Lohse, a fiery redhead with a penchant for mischief. Known across the realm for her bardic talents and her quick wit, the woman seems to have garnered quite a bit of attention inside of the Black Bull. It is difficult for her to relax as consumers and staff members alike pester her for autographs and petty conversations. Privacy is a concept she’s never really been given the chance to experience and she finds that she’s longing to try it out right about now. 

She is bored of it all, really — the attention and praise. Secretly she longs for a life of adventure in which she is not stopped twenty times along the way to be commended for her skill. She is unsure if this dream will ever be realized, but she remains hopeful given the circumstances surrounding her current endeavor.

Across from the bard are two more members of the adventuring party — both rangers, though one prefers the heft of a crossbow to the ease of the other’s mahogany bow. They sit side by side, closer than most, exchanging jokes and snide remarks. They rarely take their eyes off of one another, too wrapped up in their playful conversation to pay anyone else any mind, as is their usual way. This changes, however, the very moment a barmaid approaches with a full tray of tankards filled to the brim with the establishment’s special brew.

“Finally!” Shouts the smaller of the two — a slightly unkempt woman with a cute face and bright eyes — as she stands and enthusiastically reaches for a mug. Kayleigh is her name and, though she sports a head of tousled auburn hair and acts the part, she’s hardly Lohse’s sister.

From beside her, the other ranger rolls his eyes, the corner of his lips curling up into a signature smirk. He reaches for his own cup only after it’s placed upon the surface of the table, but he takes a pull of the ale almost as soon as it’s in his hand. While he is usually regarded as somewhat of a Lone Wolf, in profession as well as mannerism, Ifan Ben-Mezd is pleased to be in good company.

Together, they all sit, basking in each others’ presence. Ale is consumed and friendly discussions are held, helping to pass the time rather quickly while the adventurers bask in their respite... 

Across the tavern, a couple embraces. Their hands explore one another fitfully, pulling and tugging as if they just can’t seem to get close enough. They kiss, several times, clearly intoxicated and unaware (or uncaring) of those around them. 

“ _ Eugh _ ,” Kayleigh groans after a while, “get a room.”

“Ah, leave them to their fun,” Ifan says from beside her, watching the pair with mild interest. His fingers drum idly across the tabletop as he speaks, “can’t say I wouldn’t mind being in either of their shoes right now.”

“I’m willing to bet you’re awful kisser,” the redhead shoots back with a derisive snort.

“I could show you sometime, you know,” he offers, flashing her a toothy grin before taking a leisurely pull from his tankard, “maybe even prove you wrong.” And although his words are meant to be playful —  _ teasing _ , even — the tension between them is nearly palpable. 

From the other side of the table, Lohse sighs. She’s had about enough of her companions’ taunts and teases. The pair have been in denial about their feelings for one another since the start of the group’s journey. She can count on both hands how many times situations like this had arisen before and, at this point, it’s tiresome to watch.

“Oh, just kiss already!” She says finally, breaking her silence and startling everyone at the table; even Sandor, who had begun to doze off.

Kayleigh blinks in surprise at the sudden outburst, wide eyes drifting from Ifan to Lohse. Heat rises to her cheeks as she stares, dumbfounded, at the bard. She’s embarrassed — that much is clear — and, for a moment, she’s unsure if she should confront the other woman or ignore the comment altogether. Instead, she takes hold of her mug tightly and rises from the table, clearing her throat as she does so. 

“I, er… need more ale,” she mutters, mostly to herself, and turns toward the bar. It matters little that her tankard is half-full, left unfinished due to idle conversation. She’s willing to lie, if only a little, to rid herself of the humiliation she feels following Lohse’s unexpected command. Although rather than continue onward to the bar, Kayleigh turns, veering left, and slips around the corner into a small room. She then utters a passphrase to a gruff dwarf sitting upon a wooden stool and, once given the go-ahead, descends the creaky steps leading to the Undertavern. 

“Come to think of it, I’m running on empty, too,” Ifan says, raising his recently drained tankard and flipping it upsidedown to make a point. A single drop of amber ale splashes down onto the surface of the table, prompting a low laugh from the wayfarer. The man then pushes himself away from the table with ease, his demeanor far more relaxed than that of his fleeing companion, and makes his way through the establishment and into that very same room. 

Ifan hands his mug off to the dwarf, not bothering to offer any sort of explanation nor state the password, and walks toward the stairs. A sigh of relief soon passes the man’s lips as he catches sight of Kayleigh, arms crossed, leaning against the railing on the ground floor.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he starts with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood, “but I think you took a wrong turn somewhere on your way to the bar.”

Amused, though slightly still embarrassed, Kayleigh lifts her gaze and raises a brow. She regards Ifan with skepticism, giving him a small smile. Pleased with the result of his jest, Ifan’s smirk widens by just a hair and he moves to stand beside the woman.

“As…  _ direct  _ as Lohse can be, she means well,” he continues, looking to Kayleigh, “and even I have to admit that she’s sort of — ”

Before the wayfarer is able to finish his thought, Kayleigh turns to face him rather abruptly and places a palm against his cheek. Taking hold of his belt with her free hand, she pulls him into a rough kiss, tugging him closer as she does so. It’s hardly enough to say that the action startles Ifan, though he finds, after a moment, that he’s rather enjoying himself. Truth be told, this is something he’s wanted for a while, and he’s quite pleased to see that Kayleigh feels the same. A low growl bubbles up within his throat and he rests his hands on her waist, returning the gesture in kind. 

Long moments pass before either one of them dares to draw back, breathless from the heated exchange. Astonished by her brazen act, Kayleigh chuckles nervously, a familiar heat gracing her cheeks once more. Ifan laughs as well, though a bit louder than she on account of his own nerves, and turns his bashful gaze away from the woman in his arms.

“I can be just as direct,” Kayleigh blurts, cutting through the silence that hangs between them.

“That you can,” Ifan agrees, looking back to her, his own face flushed. Reluctantly, he releases her and clears his throat. It’s not long, however, before his gaze — a glint of what appears to be hunger in his eyes — rests upon Kayleigh’s lips, if only for a second. He considers indulging himself with another kiss, but a gentle hand on his shoulder puts an end to that train of thought.

“Let’s not tell Lohse about this,” comes Kayleigh’s voice, concern edging her words, “or Sandor.”

Ifan offers her a smile and lifts a hand, tracing a finger over his heart one way, then the other, in the shape of an ‘x’. 

“Scout’s honor,” he assures her, “though I can’t say I’ll complain if we were to find ourselves in a similar situation sometime in the near future…”

Amused by his response, Kayleigh can’t help but laugh. She leans in and presses a single kiss to the man’s cheek, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder once she pulls away. While she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the evening in a predicament similar to the one she’d gotten herself into mere moments ago, she doesn’t want to rouse the suspicion, or concern, of her allies in the tavern-proper. Thus, she steps around Ifan and makes her way upstairs, looking back at him only after she’s reached the top. She gives him a playful wink and then turns on her heel, disappearing through the doorway of that little room atop the stairs.

Ifan shakes his head, smiling to himself as he watches her leave. He could get used to sneaking a kiss or two every now and again...


End file.
